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Red....Red....Red....It dyed the cobblestone streets beautifully as he stared down at the corpse before him. Her long blond hair had come loose when he pinned her down, haloing her pale face as she stared upward into the night sky.She had been a beauty, they always were. Yet that beauty was tarnished by their sins and their filth that made his skin crawl when he saw them. What a waste...What a waste about them...At least this one didn't run too far and she didn't get a chance to scream out into the night to alert the Yard. Kneeling down he turned her face towards him and his lips pull upward into a wide smile. Her wide blue eyes and her pale face was exquisite, honestly it was a shame that she didn't look as angelic as she did now when she had been alive. He drops his cane to his side and pressed his claws against her cheeks lightly as he studied her face, the voice in his head began to cry.It always did after the blood was spilled.It cried and cried when he began to study the women's faces and marveled at their newfound beauty in death.He had come to tune it out, besides the hindrance couldn't leave him if it wanted to. The ring was always on his finger and he never took it off, with that in mind it didn't have a choice. Leaving meant he'd keep the ring and it realized that leaving the ring in his possession was just as bad as remaining with him. The lesser of the two evils in the end had it staying with him.And to him it was chained for how long he wanted to keep using its power.For as long as he kept hold of the ring.He released her face and began to hum as he began his work.Claws dripping with more blood as he continued to smile. He chose working with a scalpel often, but sometimes he enjoyed using the claws. Feeling and touching into his victims...He squeezes something and relishes at how soft her insides are...How inside of her it's still so warm...The voice in his head is crying. Wailing and screaming as his hands are dyed more red.He only laughs.The woman comes by his clinic with her friend, her head down as she fiddles with her basket's handle as her friend storms up to the desk. She's not like the other woman who has an appointment with him.That woman is loud, accent of the obvious lower class poorly hidden in her attempt to sound a bit more refined as she confirms her appointment. There's not a hint of shame about her with how she sounds and how loud she is in his clinic. Her dark brown hair is piled high on her head and the dark red dress shows her body's curves although he can see the telltale signs of her swelling abdomen she tries to hide with her crossed arms. Her cleavage is on full display and he refrains himself from retching as she presses her breasts closer together.Another one to add to his list...He can feel his belly squirm, the lunch he had eaten threatening to spew up his throat. Repulsive...He can feel this woman eyeing him too from across the counter. No shame and no lack of remorse of what she is about to do...He hates her so much...He can already picture slicing her up...Digging into her with black claws...But he's drawn to the other woman who has to wait. Who weakly whispers something in a soft voice to the other who points to one chair by the window.She's meek...Fearful as she settled down into the chair. She gives her friend a small wave, a shy little movement of her right hand before it drops down, as his nurse takes her friend to the back room.Her black hair had been hastily pulled back into a bun, strands loosely framing her face. She is of Oriental descent with her petite stature and how the outer tips of her eyes go upward to give her eye shape a slant. She's pale, but has a healthy pink blush on her cheeks as she nervously looks around. She wears a blue dress that is modest, the bodice isn't too tight and the collar is high, reaching her neck so her whole top is covered. Her pale slender fingers reach into her basket, nails delicately poking and stroking the petals of her flowers when she isn't looking about.She looks like a doll...Perched on the edge of the chair with the sunlight settling over her form. She reminds him of the China doll his mother once had in her study. Even how she sits is the same, head angled down with the tips of her feet pressed against the floor and her hands on her lap or in her basket. The sunlight is directed right onto the top of her head. It gives a halo effect as she keeps looking down. He can see how her hair shines and there's a hint of softness in her hair with how voluminous it is piled high and he...He wants to reach out and touch her.To take his fingers and loosen her hair so it would drape over her shoulders. To run his fingers down the length of it, would it be truly as soft and silky as it looked? He wants to grab her hair and maybe yank her head back? He wants to expose more of her to him and-Her head turns and he swallows the lump he didn't know he had in his throat as she looks in his direction.Beautiful dark brown eyes look at him with a shine of curiosity.His thoughts come to a halt and he-"Sir?" He's quick to look away and smiles, "Ah my apologies." He leaves the room briskly and spares a glance over to her one last time. She's still looking at him with those beautiful eyes of hers.His heart skips a beat, he didn't know it could still do that.He sees her again, only a little away from his clinic the next day.She stands on the corner of the busy street with her basket held close to her chest as she reaches an arm out with a hand holding a bright red flower. "Flowers!" she calls out, "Flowers for sale! Cheap! Not too much, one coin!" Her voice carries throughout the busy streets and he can easily hear her accent that she tries so hard to hide with her broken English. She looks frantically about when no one approaches before gathering up her courage to shout the same thing again.He watches a bit longer from a distance. He was suppose to be going to a party, a suffocating social function that he'll probably drink more than talk at. He hates them, but as one of the few doctors in the city with a respectable reputation he must go. His father would also be there, arm draped over a new young wife perhaps. He can feel his empty stomach twist at the thought.Heaven knows he'll probably see that woman too at his clinic a month after. How could his father disrespect his mother...To never attempt in preserving the memory of his purely angelic mother by staying widowed for life. Yet his father couldn't think without the organ between his legs and slept around. He was as much a whore as the new wives he had.He still had to go...Yet he stands in place to keep watching her instead. His attention on this tiny flower girl who he barely saw yesterday. Who is a stranger, but captivated his attention from leaving on time.Taking in how her face turns pink as she shouts louder and her face slowly tilts downward as no one approaches again. She bites her lower lip and her head hangs down in meek embarrassment. By the looks of her basket she hasn't sold many, red blooms that appeal to him. The color a beautiful sight for him...It's the color that is slowly blooming onto her cheeks the longer no one approaches her.Eventually he moves.He moves towards her.His footsteps feel heavy and drag on the cobblestone. He feels his hands begin to dampen in his gloves and an unfamiliar heat growing on his face. His feet feel heavy and he can feel his insides squirm.Not from being repulsed, oh no. This isn't like his reaction to her friend who he'll eventually see later tonight. The feeling is far from the thoughts of his father's little wives that wear his mother's jewelry. His blood doesn't boil or feels himself nauseated, this is something different.He feels something in his stomach churn as he comes closer to her. He can feel himself fidget when he finally gets to her. His throat feels tight and his tongue dry, he's...He's so close to her. His chest feels pressured as if a hand is pressing right at him and he forces his hands to stay by his side instead of grabbing her. A sudden part of him wants to take her.Take her away, hide her in his room and loosen her hair from its bun. To rest his hands on her cheeks to have her look up at him. He wants to lay her down and slowly undo the clasps of her dress. To see if her pale skin flushed pink or-Wide dark brown eyes look up at him and he feels the heat rest on his neck to his face. He feels as if he had been caught like a child again. His hand reaching for a forbidden sweet he couldn't have until supper.Yet the sweets he had been reaching for are far from an innocent pastry in sugar."F...Flowers?"Her voice is soft and it reminds him of a gentle ring of a crystal wind chime. Soothing and fleeting...He nods and fumbles into his pocket, he already knew the price. If she spoke again from those soft pink lips in that voice maybe he would just take her. ...Where were these thoughts coming from?A gold coin falls into her open palm, his gloved fingers can feel her warmth as she withdraws her hand from his. A bright red flower is given to him and he tries not to linger over her slender fingers when he takes it. She looks up at him and he swallows the lump in his throat.His heart is beating frantically as she gives him a smile. His heart has never...Her smile...God, her smile ruins all of his thoughts and he nearly forgets why he's even outside his clinic. It's a beautiful smile that could rival that of his late mother's. Her lips parted to reveal beautiful white teeth as it turns upwards. Her eyes look right to his and she speaks again to him."Thank you."His heart skips a beat, again.Because of her.He manages to tip his hat to her in response, he doesn't want to be a fool in front of her. His fingers shake a little as he opens his mouth, "Your welcome madame..." His voice comes out too lowly and he refrains from repeating himself. He doesn't want to look like a fool in front of her. He turns and slides the flower into the breast pocket of his coat. The red petals bright against the dark black fabric. Ironically placed just close to his heart...He turns away from her and he can feel the unfamiliar swell of emotions bubbling inside him.If he turned back, would she see how red his face was all because of her? Red...The color of blood and passion...Red..Red..Red...His vision waivers and he easily is flooded in the memory of her colors. Her image now settled into his brain. In his world of beautiful red she settled there. He can imagine her curled up with her red flowers blooming around her sleeping form.She is beautiful...Safe and sound in his mind's eye.
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Back home, there was family. The house was never quiet, and everyone was together. Never had she woken up without her little sisters tugging at her blankets. Sometimes her older brother would cackle loudly as he teased her for being so lazy. Mama scolded them all for the noise, but everyday started like that.Her mornings with laughter and scolding that made her smile.Here, she was alone.In this strange country she wakes up alone in her tiny room. Silence until one of the other women in the building loudly makes a fuss in the hallway.She yanks her blanket over her head and closes her eyes tight. If she tries hard, she can just imagine it’s her older cousin instead. Her older cousin with her shrilly voice asking who took her nice coat and who broke her hairbrush. She tries to correct the voice in her mind, make it less like a cat’s wailing...It doesn’t last and soon the illusion breaks down into her new reality. It had to be done, they needed money. Her older brother couldn’t shoulder everything, and she was the second eldest. Unmarried and not interested in being married...The old matchmaker even told Papa marrying her at her age was impossible. Her whole being unappealing to potential suitors that her family would have wanted her to marry with. Papa was kind enough to listen to her and decide not to wed her away...She pulls the blankets down and starts to get ready for the day.First is her long black hair, combed carefully and set in place by pins until each strand is secured into her hair bun. Once carefully pulled away from her face she goes into the wardrobe. Her dresses from home are carefully tucked away in her trunk. She cannot bring herself to take them out nor does she want them dirty. The silk too delicate and the dresses too form fitting in the eyes of the people in the city.She picks a simple yellow dress, modest and plain...She doesn’t want to stand out. The long sleeves and high collar make her skin itch, but she ignores it.Once dressed she goes to grab her little basket by the door. Her slender fingers wrap tightly on the handle as she steps out into the hallway. There are other women, and some men, moving about the halls. The noise building up as she walks to the stairs.She will have to tend to the flowers in the garden and pick the best ones. From there she’ll venture into the city to sell them. Her flowers bright red and beautiful...Cheap and plentiful still in her basket...She mustn’t lose hope. “They found another one.”She nods and follows behind her friend, no not quite a friend. She’s more of her guide in this unfamiliar city that is now her home. This woman greeted her at the house the other women call home and was the one who taught her how to speak English better.Theresa is her name.She is loud.Too loud, speaks without fear in her words. Theresa wears tighter clothes that make even her cheeks flush pink when they stand together. She is oddly kind though and quite cheerful to her despite them not being friends.Theresa isn’t a flower girl like her...She sells herself...She is the flower...They look back at the crowd gathered in front of the alley way. Uniformed men trying to get them away and moving a blanket covered body. She shivers and turns away as Theresa sighs loudly beside her.“A shame...”“It’s scary,” she whispers and holds her basket tighter to her chest as they make their way down the street, “Won’t they catch whoever did this soon?”“Maybe who knows,” Theresa tells her as she tucks a strand of her hair, “The Yard will figure it out…Eventually. I’ll still work regardless.” There was a word back home for someone like Theresa, but she dares not utter it as she gazes at the other woman.Something in her chest aches….Something in her stomach clenches…Something is very wrong…There is a little red creature, tiny and bright like the lights of the lanterns back home, who saves her.She is unsure if her ancestors watching upon her along with her family prayed for this strange creature to save her, or if it was luck that she tripped after attempting to follow Theresa. She was only trying to get her to come back home, searching through the taverns in hopes to find her and bring her home.There was so many murders….Women found dead….Craved open like way pigs were slathered back home.Something was wrong…Very wrong that night and she had tried to find Theresa.The taverns stunk of alcohol, smoke and the leers of man in her direction made her knees tremble. However, she searched for her not friend friend. Something in the way the moon shined, the cold air creeping upon her skin and the silence of everything….Something was wrong.The little creature had appeared, a sign to stop as she tried to run after Theresa into the alleyway. Her feet slipping on the wet cobblestone as the creature spoke with her, her ears filled with strange words as she tried to understand what this strange creature was…Until she heard a scream.The sight will forever haunt her….Even as the tiny creature urged her to look away, to flee to find someone. She could only stare in horror as her gaze fell on the woman on the street.Theresa on the ground, her eyes wide and mouth open like a fish gutted in the market as something dug into her stomach. Flesh ripping upon flesh, pulling…Sickening squish…Theresa was a fish. A fish getting ready to be sold in market with all her guts ripping out.Her hands fluttered to her mouth, her throat tightening as she could feel herself wanting to scream and expel her dinner as she could only stand in frozen fear.Over Theresa was a hunched figure…Her knees shaking as she collapsed, the little creature crying for her to run, flee as she locked eyes with…With that creature.Not man, not even human.Even the stories her Mama told her and her siblings to scare them to sleep, were nothing compared to what she saw upon that alley.Long nails with blood, Theresa’s blood! Nails like a knife! Digging and dragging everything from inside Theresa. Her body moving like one of her little cousin’s doll…Empty with only that monstrous hand moving her.Her chest tightens as wide glowing eyes look her way.The little creature hiding behind her….The world going black as she faints.She can faintly hear the growling of the monster….The very last thing she knows.It prowls the streets.She can’t stop picturing Theresa….Her nightmares of woman, hung up like fish…Blood….The Yard doesn’t do anything, they can’t do anything. They keep saying they’re trying and trying, but the killings don’t stop.It keeps everyone off the streets, but desperate flowers keep going because they can’t stop. They need money.The house she lives in gets quieter and quieter.She can’t sleep.She can’t remember her old home.Her dreams are gone, nightmares….She screams at night. The little creature tries to soothe her, she knows it cares, but….It continues to kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill-She can’t stop herself.She goes after the monster.The little creature doesn’t stop her, but it gives her a tearful look. Little hands wringing tight as she flies to her ears, strange jewelry the little creature tells her to wear.“I give you power to stop him.”What him?
It’s a monster.
It ends quickly.It’s for the best.Tikki hugs Plagg as he wails into her shoulder, both shaking from the rain and chill as they gaze down upon the two bodies on the street. In a sickening twist, they’re positioned like lovers.Him clinging to her, arms tight around her little waist as blood flows out of his demented smile. Her curled up against him, her left hand over his heart where a knife is lodged right through bone.Plagg doesn’t cry for him, but Tikki cries for them.